Right Next Door To Hell V 2
by EvilDrP0rkch0p
Summary: What if the biggest 80's rockstars were students? What if the whole heavy metal era happened in a highschool? A Guns n' Roses fic with guest appearances by Poison, Motley Crue and other bands. Co-written with SheLikesRockn'Roll.
1. Chapter 1

**Right Next Door To Hell V.1.2**

**(in collaboration with SheLikesRockNRoll)**

**Rating: T for swearing**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GnR... if I did they would still have all the original members. I **_**do**_**,****however, own Sophia, likewise, SheLikesRockNRoll owns Jasmine.**

**A/U: This is an alternate version of SheLikesRockNRoll's fic in Sophia's perspective.**

**Chapter 1: **

Life would be much easier if some people just spontaneously burst into flames and died. I'm looking at you Steven, with your perfect blond hair and perfect grades and perfect life. Why does everything about you have to be so fucking perfect?

"Aunt Olivia! I'm driving to school, 'kay? See you at four!"

"Bye sweetie!"

I watched my perfect twin brother (Steven, the prick I was talking about earlier) leave the perfect mansion, get into his perfect car and drive through the perfect neighbourhood to get to our (well, not-so perfect) school.

Even after he left, indication of his perfectness were still evident. In the perfectly white kitchen, a shitload of his straight A report cards were stuck to the fridge. In the lounge, sports trophies were perfectly positioned over the fireplace while dozens of plaques and certificates along with pictures of him receiving said plaques and certificates perfectly hung on every wall of the room.

Aunt Olivia noticed me staring blankly at Steven's awards. She shook her head. "Pia, Pia, Pia," She made that irritating "tsk tsk" noise she has the habit of doing, "Why can't you be more like Steven?"

"'Cause I don't wanna." I'm tired of having this goddamn conversation with her. (Although dislike having any kind of conversation with anybody at all)

"At least stop being like _this_!"

"Like _what_?"

"_Depressed_. That's what. Stop sulking around the house.—"

"_Procrastinating. _Not sulking."

"Stop wearing emo clothing all the goddamn time—"

"Black dresses are not necessarily emo, Auntie, they're _classy_. You rather I'd wear nearly nothing like everybody else?"

"I'm just telling you to live a little. Get out of the house sometimes, get some fresh air—"

"Air is overrated."

"And _stop_ with this negative attitude about everything! I don't get why you get all depressed sometimes."

"Maybe because my parents died."

"That was _two _years ago!"

"Maybe I'm not over it."

She looked at me blankly, absentmindedly running a hand through her perfectly combed hair. Awkward silence time.

"Well", she started, "that explains the clothing." Since the _incident, _as we like to refer it as, everyday was a funeral for me. Everyday, it felt like the sun gradually wasted away. Everyday, it felt like somebody had just died, like theyjust died. Like_ I_ just died.

"I'm not asking you to 'get over it', Sophia, I know it's next to impossible for you" She spoke with a fake sympathetic tone. "I just want you to be happy" Bullshit "to act _normal _for once."

She looked at me anticipating a nice, sweet, apology. Like hell she was gonna get one. "Why try to be normal when you can be different?"

"Oh," she tapped her heel, thinking of what to say I assume "you better get to school now."

"Sure..." I tried to remember where I left my keys.

"Want me to drive you?" Oh, that's right. I didn't have a car. "You're running late."

"I already am." I sighed as I grabbed my book bag and dragged myself out the door.

The first thing I remember after running like fuck to school is lying face down in the parking lot with a bloody nose and a black eye.

"The rich kid's down!" One of the 'rebels' (who are more commonly known as 'punks who smoke crack and vandalise cars for no apparent reason except for the fact that they think it makes them look badass') yelled out. This whole 'beat the rich girl to a pulp and take her cash' thingy is getting very repetitive.

Why don't they pick on Steven, you ask? Because he's a jock. You know, the top-of-the-food-chain, the king of the school kind of person (and being one of _them _helps too) whereas I'm a wimpy emo nobody who keeps to herself and draws in her notebook all the time. I'm an outcast, a weakling. A weakling with _money_.

"Get her lunch money!" Lunch money? _Really? _I've got a check book right here, dipshits.

"Hey, cut it out guys!" A familiar voice called out. My knight in shining armour. Oh thank god, he's here. This was getting old.

It was dead silent except for some whispering among the punks; "Stradlin's here."

"Game over, bros."

"Let's scram" The junkies began to leave me alone. Sometimes I wonder how Izzy Stradlin has so much power over them.

I tapped Izzy 's leg. He gave me a small smile and held out his hand. We stood there watching the crowd dissolve. I looked up at him. "Can I go now?"

"WOAH! Wait up!" Apparently not, as was confirmed by a booming, obnoxious voice that echoed around the lot. Axl Rose. Arrogant. Self-centred. Misogynist. Cuntbag. Asshole. "Party's not over until _I _say it is." He said holding up an unnervingly large knife above his ginger head, a mischievous look crossed his face.

"Stop it Axl." Izzy glared

"And why should I listen to you? You're _nothing _compared to me." Axl was now standing an inch from him, "You know what? You should know your place; behind _me _and _not _fighting for little kids." He poked my shoulder. Really hard, at that.

"She's had enough." He said in a voice that was louder than usual. He and Axl tried to stare each other down.

"So had my girls but I still gave 'em more." Ha, ha. He thinks he's so fucking clever.

I soon became aware that the nearly empty lot was swiftly filling up with nearly half the sophomores gathering in a circle around Izzy and Axl. I knew why they came here. They were expecting a fight. And I was pretty sure they were about to get one.

"It's alright Izzy" I whispered, I noticed I was still holding his hand. "I'm okay, let's just go."

A couple of the punks grabbed him and pinned him to the ground.

"Aw, are you gonna cry?" Axl teased, walking closer to me and spinning the knife in his hand. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it until I screamed from the pain. "Are you hurt?" He kicked me in the stomach and I cried out again. "Beg. Beg me to stop." He taunted as he punched my jaw repeatedly.

"S-s-stop." I managed to choke out.

"What's the magic word?"

"P-p-_please_"

"Good." When I thought he was leaving and it was over, he spun around. The wicked smile still fixed onto his pretty face "On second thought..." He grabbed my arm again but instead of giving me another dose of excruciating pain, he decided to cut my wrist. "That's better."

He dragged an unconscious Izzy to the dumpster (the punks' hideout, I believe) laughing the whole time. I was in the empty parking lot, hurt and alone, waiting for a car to run over me, waiting for this to just _end_. I kept picturing Axl's face when he was beating me up, like he did every day. But even after all _this_, I still loved him.

**A/N: Too short? Bad writing? R/R please. Flames are welcome as long as they help. And SheLikesRockNRoll, upload your version too.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The New Kid**

**A/N: Thanks to everybody who wasted their time reading the first chapter! You guys made me feel special. But, seriously, **_**review **_**once and a while, will ya? Thanks :D**

Do you know how remarkable it feels, running down an empty hall? You're beaten and bruised but you keep running, racing against the clock, reaching your destination in the nick of time.

The irritating sound of the warning bell echoed loudly just as I burst through the doors of Mr. Endicott's homeroom, weaved through the rows of desks to get to mine at the very back corner. When I did, everybody around me stood up and started towards the front of the room, murmuring things like "weirdo" and "freak". Eh, I've heard worse.

I brought out my notebook, like I always do before (and during and after) class starts. I fished around in my bag, I couldn't have lost it could I? As I started having a mental panic attack, I felt the familiar cylindrical shape of the object I was looking for. "My lucky pencil!" I mumbled, a little too loudly than intended, earning some dirty looks from my classmates.

I began drawing the first thing that came to mind; a dove. People say it represents peace. I say it represents individuality. I mean, when you're randomly throwing around bread crumbs in the park to the pigeons how amazing is it when you see a lone dove among the sea of greyness? The pigeons avoid it 'cause it's different, but, really, we're all born the same in one way or the other, some just choose to stand out.

My train of thought was interrupted when my head was smacked onto the table by some unseen force. Said unseen force happened to go by the name Duff McKagan and it looks like he brought a friend along. It appears that troublemakers come in pairs.

The two of them looked right about similar. Band T-shirts, leather pants, boots and blonde hair in that_ ridiculous_, big, puffy hairstyle everybody seems to have these days.

His friend had an irritated look on her face as he started explaining how justifiable it was to hit a girl. I didn't notice her moving into the seat next to me.

"Hi, I'm Jasmine" Stupid name and a stupid accent, but why should I care? I nodded at her, this was as polite as I care to get.

She stared at me in anticipation, "What's yours" Bitch clearly didn't know the definition of personal space.

"Sophia" I said simply, carrying on with my drawing. Couldn't she take a hint that I justdidn't _feel_ like talking? Or thinking. Or breathing, for that matter.

The sound of thousand paged biology textbooks being slammed onto wood reverberated around the room, which made everybody but myself shake with fear. "Take out your books!" The teacher, Mr Endicott, ordered.

Everyone else hastily obeyed his command whereas I remained in my usual contemplative state. Why everyone was afraid of him, I honestly couldn't understand. He was short, balding and chubby. He looked partially like an old, friendly grandpa and slightly like an overweight paedophile. He was funny to watch, the way he thinks he's the creepy teacher of the school, how he sports that overly dramatic glare, how he demands we remain in a state of fear when he's in charge. I find it rather amusing how he got everybody following suit.

"Sir," the new kid said in barely a whisper. She was _afraid _of him? Huh, maybe she's not as tough as she looks. "I'm Jasmine McKagan" Duff's relative! I fucking knew it.

"Ah yes," He started scribbling down on his clipboard "Sister?"

"Cousin." She stuttered out again. Watching other people in fear is one of my favourite pastimes.

"Well, they mustn't have added you to the roll yet." Well, _duh_, of course they wouldn't have otherwise you would've known her fucking name you ignorant fucktard. "Is it Jasmine with an 'e'?" Well can you fucking spell Jasmine _without _an 'e'? Like, Jas_min, _now, how would that make sense you fucktard.

"Yes." Simple responses? Blank expression? Radical Clothing? Stereotypical highschool drop out. I'd give it three months.

Endicott said something else but I couldn't be bothered to give a damn. I felt somebody nudge me. I. Do. Not. Like. Being. Nudged. That Jasmine kid, "What's our teacher's name."

"Endicott." And next time, don't fucking touch me.

"Mr. Endicott?" God, she's dumb.

"No, Mrs. Endicott." Hoping I made her realize I didn't want to talk, I continued with my drawing.

Instead of taking it the wrong way (or in this case, the way I wanted her to) she continued bombarding me with useless questions, "What are you drawing? Is that a dove?"

"No" I learned from an early age that sarcasm was one of the best weapons to use against people you don't like. That, and an M-14. "What do you think it is?"

"Jasmine, do you understand the notes or do I need to go into further detail?" Endicott said from behind his desk, "Jasmine? Ms. McKagan, do you understand?" Sir, I don't think she does. Try speaking slowly with smaller words like 'you', 'are', and 'retarded'.

Rather than snapping back to focus, she continued staring blankly at my drawing with her mouth hanging slightly open, almost comically.

Eventually she did come back down to earth only to be greeted by a glaring Endicott, "Sorry, what was that?", she murmured.

"I said. Do. You. Understand." Oh, just imagine her terrified face as she heard that. At times like this, I'm thankful for having Endicott as my teacher.

"Yes" she said rapidly, obviously not wanting to look like an idiot. Sorry, honey but you can't hide who you are.

She quickly started catching up with her notes after that. I didn't bother taking down notes. I mean, we had all this stuff in the book which I already read and reread, what's the point in learning it twice?

I ripped out the page of my sketchbook with the finished drawing and folded it neatly into a paper airplane. Making sure nobody was looking, I tossed it out the window, watching it glide endlessly across the sky, like a dove should.

Was the bell taking significantly long to ring that day, or was it just me? I'm pretty sure this was just another one of those days when I'm simply bored out of my wits so I did what I always did when I was bored (and also when I was entertained as well); started another drawing.

Wait, no it was the bell. Class was taking _way _too long. Most of the students were either passing notes or had those newfangled game machines out. I'm surprised at how unobservant Endicott may be at some times. Wait, no, he's asleep. Damn the teachers and their decaf lattés.

I noticed Duff and new kid passing notes, with the new kid occasionally taking peeks at my drawing, which I tried my best to hide from her peripheral vision. She should take a hint and mind her own fucking business. Nosy people always get killed in the movies, you know.

Finally the bell _did _go and everybody headed to second period—well, everyone except Endicott, who had a Sharpie moustache at the moment.

It was only when I was packing up when I became aware of what I had drawn. It was a sketch of Jasmine with thousands of doves pecking out her eyes, a very good likeness, if I do say so myself.

New kid was still looking at me for some reason, creepy shit (and that's coming from me), "Hey, kid." I pulled on her sleeve (well, if she can nudge me why can't I?), "Don't try to look at my fucking drawings" or me, myself, for that matter.

She looked absolutely appalled, exactly the way she should be.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Despise its very existence? Review! Flames are welcome but hate on GnR and I _will _get pissed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. Haven't uploaded in a while, sorry. And thanks to all those who read my and SheLikesRockN'Roll's versions of this fic.**

**Chapter 3: A Jailbreak and Coke**

Has anyone ever told you how much school's like a jail? I mean, you sit around all day, listening to people demanding respect that they didn't rightfully earn. People telling you there's only one way you could live—and that's their way, of course. People trying to show you where to stand, usually beneath them. And, like a jail, your only objective is to get the hell out of there.

But you know how school differs from jail? You know how, in jail, you commit a crime and then you're punished? Well, in school, you get punished and tortured to unspeakable levels and only after you're fed up with all that crap you commit a crime.

So I'm just gonna say that I've been pushed around to the point that I'm one step from being suicidal to homicidal.

Down the hall, I could still hear Axl and Duff laughing their asses off. I just don't get it. They've pushed me into lockers one too many times for it to _still _be entertaining. Although it could be the fact that _this _time my head left a massive dent on the metal. Yeah, could be.

It was lunchtime, _another _thing that sets jail apart from school. Jail most likely serves much more nutritious food than the crap they try to pass off as 'edible'.

The cafeteria doesn't seem very hygienic either, I prefer eating outdoors and bringing my own lunch. I only go inside that germ infested crack house to get some Diet Coke from the vending machine. I love me some Diet Coke enough to risk my sanity to get one.

_Unfortunately _the vending machine happened to be only a table away from Steven and Axl's so I had to risk an extra beating. Oh fucking well, anything for my Coke.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an extra blondie, the new kid, Jasmine. Well, it was to be expected anyway, punks are drawn to their kind. It looks like they were getting along quite nicely, good. I wouldn't hesitate to threaten another girl. _Boys_, however, I'm a little uneasy.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop but, c'mon, they talk really loudly... "Innocent?" I heard Steven exclaim, "Trust me, she's anything _but_" Aw, how sweet. They were talking about me.

"Are you related?" Jasmine asked curiously.

"She's my twin sister."

She looked surprised at that. Well, couldn't blame her. We looked nothing alike; he was bubbly and had curly blonde hair whereas I'm almost always completely silent and had long, pitch black hair.

"And you're letting these guys beat her?" An excellent point, but what else would they be capable of doing in their free time? _Knit_?

"Bros before hoes" Coke before Pepsi.

"Isn't that for relationships?" And soda.

"Well... whatever. These guys are more important to me than Sophia will ever be so I don't really care about what happens to her." Although I will never openly admit it, what he said just then kinda, sorta, broke my heart a little. He was my _brother, _goddammit. He may as well act like one once and a while.

"Besides," he continued, "she has Izzy"

CRAP. IZZY. I ran as fast as I could to the nurse's office, remembering my best friend whom I accidentally left alone in a dumpster full of thugs earlier that day.

"'surgent?" I blurted out, breathless from running from the other side of the school.

"Slow down, dear." McNulty, the school nurse who looked like the idea that the sixties were twenty years ago had not occurred to her, said calmly in her sing-song voice.

"WHERE THE HELL IS IZZY?" I spat, frustrated, forgetting my manners.

"He left five minutes ago, dear." She replied as calm as she was before.

"CRAP" I stormed out the nurse's office to find my friend, whom I happened to bump into right outside the school gardens, "Sweet Jesus, where the hell were you? I was worried sick!" I screamed at Izzy's face.

He looked bemused at my exasperation, "Calm down, dude. You're the one who left me alone in the lot."

"Big, scary thugs dragged you off. What the fuck was I supposed to do?" I blurted, catching myself afterwards, "I'm sorry. I panicked, how's your wrist?" I murmured, noticing the cast.

"It'll be better in a couple o' days, I guess." He smiled, the kind of smile that reassures you everything's gonna be okay. The kind of smile liars have.

"What about your guitar?" I asked, seeing right through him.

He fidgeted for a moment before replying, "I prob'ly could _still _play when I get this cast off—"

"But not as good as you used to?" I finished for him.

"Right." He was disappointed, like he let the whole world down.

"Aw, screw that. You're one of the best musicians and singers I've ever heard and even if you weren't, you'd still be the best friends I'd ever have." I smiled, he smiled. The whole world was perfect for a moment—but he had to go all pessimist and ruin it.

"You're right about the friend bit, I guess." He _guesses_? What the hell is that supposed to mean? "But for the singing and guitar-ing bit, I'm not as good as Axl and Slash and I don't think I'd ever will be."

"Look at it this way, you're not as useless as Duff."

"Doesn't he play bass?"

"Your point? He does little else."

He laughed in agreement.

"Besides, I for one think Axl screeches too much for my liking and Slash reminds me of a hobo."

"True," he chuckled a bit. "Oh wait, I forgot to give you something." He fished around his pockets, drawing out a small box.

"Is that what I think it is?" My eyes widened an my pulse started to quicken.

"Is it?" He smirked as he opened it. Tickets to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror this Saturday.

"Oh my God, it is, _it is_!" I flung myself on him, pulling him into a big hug, "Oh and you're going as Riff-Raff."

"We're wearing _costumes_?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do at Rocky Horror? Besides you already look like him so it wouldn't be much effort on your part."

He considered it for a bit before muttering a quick 'fine' and hugging me back. Everything was perfect in the world again.

If school was a jail, then this must be my great escape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Underestimated**

Hey, remember that Jasmine kid I was talking to a couple of weeks back in homeroom? Guess what? Turns out she's in almost _every single one_ of my classes. Bummer. Yeah, she's lasting longer than expected, seeing that she's hanging out with the stoners.

They've been skipping most of school, occasionally showing up for the sole purposes of picking up teenaged sluts and making my life a living hell.

On a related note, remember when I said I was dangerously close to homicidal? Well, I'm more or less a suicide bomber right now.

They have pushed me around for the last time. One of these days I'm gonna get my revenge. But _how_? I racked my brain for something—_anything _that will show them I was more than they made me out to be. Anything ranging from dog poo cookies to a school lock down was fine with me. But no. I needed something tricky. Sabotage, that's _it_. But how, _how_? All I could do at the moment is to keep my eyes open for any opportunity to bring them down.

Too engrossed in my thoughts, I didn't notice the bell had gone off a while ago, signifying the end of our History class likewise informing everyone, seeing History is the last period I have, that we can go on a temporary leave for the weekend, only to come back after two days to suffer more brutal torture followed by another dose of brain washing.

The room was practically empty except for myself, a couple of loners who obviously had nothing to do for Friday night —and _that girl_. Was she stalking me or something? She could be spying on me for her masters (and by masters, I mean Axl and co.) That... or she could simply be waiting for everybody to leave the hall before she goes out and gets her stuff out of her locker. Yeah, seems more likely.

I left the classroom as soon as everybody was outside, aware I had nothing to do inside there. (Except thumbtack and glue Duff's chair. Ha. Classic.)

My locker was unnervingly close to Jasmine's, which I found rather uncomfortable mainly because of the fact she spends half her day staring intently at me and the other half, I suppose, wondering whether or not to stare at me or play servant to Axl. There wasn't much to this girl at all.

Slamming my locker at the same time she did, I decided to direct my thoughts at something else. Something that would _not _fuel my paranoia further.

I love the empty hallway, (I hate it when it's cramped. People use way too much of my air.) I can imagine myself as a super villain when I'm walking through it. A massive explosion behind me—I decide to ignore it because the less you acknowledge an explosion, the cooler you look, as Superman taught me.

There _was_ a bang sound, in fact, when I was a step away from the front gates, although this bang sounded nothing like an explosion to me. It sounded more like myself being slammed into the lockers once again.

Axl was hovering over me, a triumphant glare on his face. Like I said, it was Friday and I was pissed so I did what any other person who just got slammed face first into cold, hard steel. I got up and slapped him.

He was fuming, hands balled into fists. I should've just ran away. He made it clear it was too late now. I braced myself for the impact.

"Don't." Jasmine? What the hell? "Seriously, Axl, she's just a girl who finally got sick of taking all that shit from you." She's an annoying, meddlesome kid, but she's right.

Surprisingly, Axl left. Huh, it's usually Izzy who comes to my rescue. Where the hell was he anyway? Probably taking supplementary SAT's. Nerd.

Jasmine was looking concernedly at me "You okay?" I got up, unscathed. Does that answer your question?

I had nothing else to say to her, this was _completely _unexpected, even for me. "Thanks..." because, _honestly_? I would've never done anything remotely close to this for you.

"I don't know how you take all of that stuff, but good on you for finally sticking up for yourself. I mean, Axl is Axl, but that's something you should have done a long time ago. How long has he been like that to you?"

Should I tell her? The time when Axl was still nice to me? When Steven still acted brotherly? When the two of them grew up? When they started teasing me for petty things like simply being a girl? When Steven told me he didn't want to be my brother anymore? Or the time when Axl first hit me? That's the problem. Jasmine was the kind of person you'd trust all your secrets with. I needed to avoid those people.

It took me a while to choose my words without revealing much. Although she might_ look_ like somebody trustworthy and genuinely good natured, she might not be. Besides, I didn't trust anybody. "When I was eight, I started going downhill and eventually became a punching bag whereas Steven climbed to the top of the food chain with Axl and the rest of those dicks."

"Well, those _dicks _consist of my cousin and his friends," And my brother, "I know what they do to you but I don't see why we can't get along," Of _course _you don't. You don't see _anything_. "You're just a misunderstood girl."

You know those conversations you have all the time and get tired of having eventually? This is one of those conversations I have almost daily and I _never _get tired of it. It's all too entertaining to resist having. "Misunderstood? I believe the term you're looking for in your limited vocabulary is _underestimated_, my unintellectual acquaintance."

"How so? As far as I can see, you're just getting beat up and doing nothing about it." Nothing? I beg to differ.

"You see your keys?"

"Yes, in my pocket."

"Not anymore," I had her keys tangled between my fingers. She had a surprised look on her face, the kind of look I find the most amusing (aside from the expression of pure fear) although I really couldn't blame her. Most people just can't see what's in front of their very eyes

"Give them back."

"Alright, now you believe me? Now imagine what I can do with weapons."

"You're twisted. I like it."

"Thank you. You may not be as ignorant as I thought you'd be."

I heard Duff's irritating voice as he called out to her. Just as she was leaving, she turned back to me, "Well, I gotta go get home now. I'll see you again sometime soon"

I decided to leave her with one more mind boggling, "And just so you know, your mother's making crème brulees and your favourite show is on in thirteen minutes."

Her expression switched from calm to confused to downright freaked and then back to confused again, "How did you know?"

How _did_ I know? Well, earlier today, I heard her making bets about some ridiculous wrestling show. She mentioned it was on at three- thirty. And as for the crème brulees, she mentioned once in cooking class they was her favourite and her mom makes them for her every day, which I find rather unhealthy, consuming all that sugar.

"I have my ways." And by 'ways' I mean I simply take careful notice of what's going on. Like now, she has this terrified look on her face so she must be thinking something along the lines of "She's seriously starting to creep the fuck out of me."

"Wasn't I before?" I watched her grow more and more afraid by the second. Creeping out ignorant people never ceases to entertain me.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, toodles!" I spun around and made for the back exit. Duff and Axl were outside so I couldn't risk getting caught and besides, it's always essential to make a dramatic exit and Jasmine's been left completely befuddled which makes it even better. You know, she wasn't half bad, come to think of it. We just might get along. Well, no. Not really.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Little Obsession**

"Steven, honey! I'm going out. Have fun playing with your friends!" Auntie Olivia waved as she went inside her limousine.

"Oh I will, Auntie! Have fun at the Chastity Ball." He smiled innocently, as if he was unaware of what he was about to do. Deceitfulness runs in the family, you know.

"And Sophia," She looked at me sternly, "stay out of trouble."

"Oh I will, Auntie" I smiled as innocently as Steven, fingers crossed behind my back for reasons I will go into further detail later.

Steven's having guests over today. And by 'guests' I mean 'people who trash my room and eat my food whilst listening to records on my stereo system in my trashed room'.

I headed straight to said room as soon as Auntie Olivia was out the gates, closing the door behind me. I glanced at the grandfather's clock beside my fireplace. Fifteen minutes until all hell breaks free. That gives me just enough time to finish this. I tied my paint-splattered apron around my black velvet dress and lifted out the paintbrush I had behind my ear and started putting the finishing touches on my new masterpiece; a picture of a rose and a gun. It was the best thing I'd ever painted in my opinion, although I _have _said that about all my other creations as well.

Nobody appreciates classical art these days. It's always heavy metal 'music' and neon fashion and blah, blah, _blah_ like art isn't a valid method of expressing oneself anymore. It's overlooked, underestimated, belittled, when all it wants is a little respect.

I heard obnoxious hooting and laughing from downstairs, they were early. The five of them (including Jasmine, their new 'pet' apparently) barged into my room, almost knocking my ebony door in the process. Was the idea of knocking way over their mental capacity?

Axl had this cute little snarl on his face, somewhat like a puppy's, "Get out, Sophia".

Now, why would I do that? "Last time I checked it was my house,"

Steven shot his hand in the air "And my house too," Oh thank you Captain Obvious. "So like Axl said, get the hell out of here"

"It's _our _house although this is _my _room therefore _I_ possess the authority to ask _you _to get the fuck out. Now please do so immediately." I wasn't afraid of them. Irritated, but not afraid. This wasn't _school, _this was _life_ and in _this _life, _my _life, I'm on top. Besides, I couldn't give a rat's arse if they burned my room down, I just needed to stall so I could finish this painting and _then _get the hell out of here. Just as I did, I felt someone grab hold of me and fling my out the room. Eh, I was leaving anyway.

I hung around my door a little, emotionlessly listening to them causing a thousand dollars worth of damage to my room all the while checking the contents of Axl's wallet which I pick pocketed when he threw me out. Fifty dollars, a good start to the day, I guess. I smiled at his picture on his fake ID, the only thing we both can agree on is the fact that he has the best looks on a teenage boy anyone had ever seen.

As I was walking towards the front gates, I caught a glimpse of my bedside lamp smashing through my window. I chuckled to myself, knowing I'd make up for all the damage. The problem was, where do I start?

I made my way to the local mall and headed straight to the jewellery shops, taking notice of the security cameras. It's not like I was going to _buy _anything, I didn't even _like _jewellery. I scanned through the rows of display cabinets, taking more notice of the prices than designs.

"Hello, may I help you?" A clerk said cheerfully with a smile that clearly meant, "What the hell is a freak doing here?"

"No thank you", I smiled as innocently as possible, "I'm not buying". Like hell I was.

"Alright then" I knew what she was thinking, "Then you better get the fuck out now" I obeyed her mental command, seeing that I'd already filled my purpose here, and headed to the door.

A couple of shops down was a money exchanger, exactly what I needed. I walked up to the short Asian man behind the counter, "Excuse me, do you accept diamonds?"

"Y-yes. How many?" He took out his notepad.

I smiled and emptied my coat pockets and boots so that a third of the counter was covered with diamond jewellery, "Now how much would I get for that?"

With wide eyes he handed me a sack that contained a dozen bundles of cash. Excellent, just enough to pay for my room, maybe even some change to pay for new art supplies. But I wasn't satisfied yet, oh no.

You see, in my opinion, stealing is like eating McDonalds, you try to stop but you just can't_. _Then afterwards you realize you never really want to stop in the first place and keep on doing it.

My devious instincts took over as I headed straight to the Gucci store with the intention of obtaining new sunglasses and a hat.

Of course, I can well afford everything I take but, again, like McDonalds, why settle for a barely filling salad when you can experience the joy of consuming a Big Mac? The petty monetary exchange between shopper and cashier does _nothing _for me compared to the utmost thrill of acquiring something on my own without any compromises and drawbacks, for now at least.

I arrived and left the store the same way I did in the jeweller's; sunglasses in my pocket and a fedora hat concealed in my skirt. Head brimming with ego at my skills, I swiftly made my way down the long line of shops.

I wasn't finished though, a master thief's work never finishes; it only increases. I wanted—needed something else: A getaway car. Why? Because that's what thieves do. They get away. And I wanted a ride _so freaking bad_.

I stuck my hand in the nearest bag I could find, quickly drawing out a bunch of keys, exactly the same way I tricked Jasmine yesterday although this time, along with a shiny new Rolex. I never cease to be amazed at how unobservant people are.

Turns out, the keys were those of a black convertible. Fine with me, since I haven't got an idea what kind of car conmen use. In fact, I'm totally clueless about cars themselves, since I only acknowledge three kinds of cars; small, big and truck.

Hat firmly in place, I started up the engine and cranked up the radio. Realising that I generally disliked every type of popular music, I decided to listen to the sound of my own awesomeness instead. Slipping on my sunglasses like a badass, I theatrically drove into the sunset, Indiana Jones style.

When I pulled over in front of the house, I observed that most of my paintings and furniture were scattered on the porch, some even submerged inside the fountain. Surprisingly, I didn't care much. I was too absorbed in my temporary ego to care.

Steven's unusually high pitched voice greeted me first, "Well look who's here." Yes, _look, _everybody, as if you didn't see me in the first place when I came in.

Ignoring them, I made my way to my room to stash the money. When I saw the mess, instead of having a gigantic fit like everybody expected me to, I simply shrugged it off and opened the safe that was hidden under the floorboards and deposited the contents of the sack inside.

When I re-entered the lounge, everybody looked significantly disappointed. They probably were anticipating a mental break down, "Is that all?"

"Why aren't you pissed", Axl had a confused-little-boy look on his face. It was _delicious_.

"Should I be?" Stealing puts me in a better mood than usual.

"Fuck yeah!" Some guy with a massive afro spat out. He looked homeless. He _smelled _homeless as well. Remind me to disinfect every room in the house after he leaves.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I expected worse." I mean,_ really_. All that combined intellect and that's all they could think of?

"Whatever", homeless dude murmured.

I took in as much as I could of their bewildered faces at that moment, especially Jasmine's. Frankly, I'm surprised she actually went along with them (though I highly doubt she actually contributed to their 'redecorating'). She seems like a fairly nice (but stupid) kid, too naive to be a part of a group like theirs. Maybe, if I'm bothered, I could actually get along with her—with a little effort on my part, that is.

Axl, it seems, had the same idea, "Hey, Jasmine"

"That's my name" She replied with her mildly annoying bubbly tone.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" Oh god, he wasn't... SAY NO, BITCH.

"I'm pretty sure I am, why?" Fuck.

"Why do you think? I wanna take you out somewhere." Double fuck.

"What, like a date?" Not like a date!

"Yes like a date." NO!

"Yes, I'd love to. What time?" The day pigs fly.

"Seven, maybe eight? I'm fine with whatever time is best for you." How about never?

"Seven sounds fantastic." Seven hours to never, possibly?

"Great. See you then Jas." He had the most beautiful expression when he looked at her, the kind I wanted him to give _me_.

That fucking does it. Just she wait, Jasmine's going to hell and _I'm _gonna be the one dragging her down there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Anthill**

Ever since Saturday, there have been only two things on my mind:Murder and toast. I have been picturing Jasmine's slow, excruciating death for three hours now. At the moment I was in the process of deciding whether or not to incorporate dolphins or simply just go with the ocean liner idea. Also, I was low on bread and I _needed _toast.

There was loud knock on my door that Sunday evening just as I was putting on my bright red wig. It was me and Izzy's sorta-date night out to the cinema. He had a really cool bald cap on and was wearing a tattered tuxedo. I grinned at the fact he looked _exactly _how he's supposed to in the movie.

As we were about to go out the door, we were stopped my gigantic cockblock of an Aunt (who was still mad about the whole goddamn bedroom incident—_as if it were my fault_), "And where do you think you're going at this time of night?" She took one look at our costumes and heaved an overly dramatic sigh, "You kids and your bong parties..."

"Jeez, Auntie we're just going to see Rocky Horror." Adults and their false accusations about teenagers...

"Dressed in _that_?"

"She does have a point, Sophia." Izzy whispered in my ear.

"Izzy, stay out of this. What am I supposed to wear then? A trannie costume and platform heels?" I laughed at my own joke before pushing her aside and stumbling out the door with Izzy. "Oh and I'll be back at four. Maybe. If I'm not then I'm not planning on coming back at all. See ya later, bitch!" I yelled out from outside.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I was on something that night.

I woke up with the biggest hangover in the history of teenage nights out (Did I even drink anything?). What made it even worse was that I woke up on Izzy's bed—and he was beside me. Awkward. Awkward. _Awkward_.

I got up abruptly. I looked down and sighed with relief. Thank _god _I was still wearing my costume, minus the wig.

Izzy was wearing his costume as well, although he did lose the bald cap, "Well, somebody's up." He laughed, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Do not make suggestive comments it only makes it even more awkward."

"Chill, dude, _nothing _happened."

"Nothing?"

"_Nothing_" There was a flicker of something in his eye. Sadness? Disappointment, maybe?

"So what _did _happen?"

He fidgeted for a bit, "You hit your head on a pole on the way out of the cinema and you were out cold after that and yeah, um—I brought you home." He _carried _me all the way here?

"Um, thanks..." I murmured uneasily

"You're welcome..." he said just as nervously.

"What time is it?" I asked, desperately wanting to change the subject.

"Time to get a watch." He said simply, getting up.

"Time to get a new fucking joke." I muttered, "No, seriously. What time?"

He checked his (super mega extremely cool) pocket watch, "Five in the morning. Did I mention it's a Monday today?" Oh shit. Annual School Beach Day Thingy.

"Should I be getting home?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't"

"I wasn't planning on leaving."

"Awesome." He smirked at me.

The rest of the three hours before school passed by too quickly for my liking. Maybe because I loved hanging around Izzy too much to leave or because my P.E. class happens to be going to the beach today and Axl, Jasmine, Steven, Duff and the hobo guy are in my class and I _desperately _didn't want to leave.

Monday. Nine thirty. Parking lot outside school. Izzy's mum didn't let him go to the beach thingy we had today because of his broken arm. Excuses, excuses. As far as I'm concerned, Izzy should get _his_ ass down here right now and save _my_ ass like he's supposed to.

"Everybody take your seats! Hurry up!" A chubby, herp-a-derp woman going by the name Mrs. Boyd, our P.E. teacher, called out.

Looking down the aisle of seats in the bus, I realized that finding a seat wouldn't be much of a problem for me, seeing that most everyone, it looks like, would be willing to give up their seat for the sake of avoiding my freak-germs. Ah, the perks of being an outcast.

I settled with my usual placement; the very back. As soon as I sat down, those sitting beside and in front of me stood up and walked quickly to the front of the bus, muttering various obscenities along the way, leaving every seat within arm's reach empty. Perfect.

_Not _as perfect as it looks, as I have come to understand, because you know what happens when a seat is empty? It means someone can simply occupy them without difficulty. The recent occupants of the chairs in front of me happened to be, unfortunately, Axl and his goons. Kill. Me. Now.

It just so happens that my brother, Steven couldn't find a seat, since the four available seats in front of me had been occupied by Axl and the rest of his little group of thugs already, and has been spending an awkwardly large amount of time deciding whether or not to occupy the seat next to mine.

"Steven, would you like to sit next to me?" I offered. What else was I supposed to do? When he's thinking, he looks stupid and when he looks stupid it's embarrassing.

It looks as if he actually considered my offer for a moment. But. _Duff_.

"You don't have to do that, see if you can squeeze in next to us." I swear, they were totally bi for each other.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you don't have to sit next to your freak of a sister."

"Cool!" Well, there goes my brother-sister moment. Steven did as much as he could to squeeze himself and two other people in a two person seat.

Seeing I had nothing better to do, I took out my sketchpad and lucky pencil once again. I looked out the window, trying to find something suitable to draw which was harder than usual. Everything on the way to the beach just looked like a massive blur of green. I began drawing whatever came to mind, letting the rest of my senses wander freely.

A certain conversation between the hottest guy in school and his _excessively irritating _dumb blonde girlfriend happened to catch my attention.

"Did you enjoy last night?" What does he mean by '_enjoying_'it?

"Of course I did. One of the best weekends I've spent in a while." Honestly _what are they talking about_?

"You don't have to lie to me, Jas." So, something bad happened? That's a good sign.

"I'm not. Besides, why would I lie to you?" Because you're a backstabbing two-faced bitch, that's why.

"I guess you're right. Ten points to the new girl."

"Woo! Axl, can I ask you something?"

"You just did." Ha, ha.

"I'm serious. Why did you ask me out after only a school week of knowing me?", yes, why _did _you, Axl Rose? "I mean, there are lots of other options I've seen at school." Like me. " Lots of prettier and smarter girls," Note, _smarter_. Ha. Classic. "who would definitely go out with you... basically, why did you choose me?" WHY?

"So you're saying you'd rather I didn't take you out?" YES.

"No, that's not what I meant. I just want to know what you see in me." A stupid blonde bimbo.

"Because I liked you straight away, at first glance I thought you were hot. Then Duff introduced us and I got to know you and discovered how great you truly are, so I thought, what the hell? Does that answer your question?"

"Yes. Thanks. It does."

There are no words for what I'd just heard. The bus ride couldn't have gone any slower.

When we (finally) reached our destination, I was pushing and shoving through the crowd to _just get the fuck out of there_. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

I have never felt so worthless in my life. What I was forced to hear in the bus was one of the worst tortures Axl had given me. Because, you know what they say, sticks and stones will break your bones but words will fuck you up forever.

I shot an icy glare at Jasmine as she walked past me on the porch of the beach resort hotel. Why her? _Why her_? But again, why not her? She was pretty, sweet, kind, caring (and she looked _stunning _in a bikini, unlike me). She had _friends_. She had a _family. _She had _him_.She waseverything I wasn't. She had everything _I _wanted.

I ran to the bathroom before any tears could fall. I was tired of seeing them together. I was tired of seeing them at all.

A crowd of teenage girls in bikinis walked past me by the sink, apparently mistaking me for deaf.

"She's weird"

"Look at how she dresses? Long black dresses! She must be really emo. Or retarded. Doesn't she know we're in the beach?"

"Oh, she isn't in her swimmers 'cause she's ano-anar- _way _too skinny."

"Look at her! She has the plainest faces I've ever seen!"

"Ha, now she's crying!"

"How pathetic!"

"No wonder she doesn't have friends."

I could still hear their hysterical laughter as they left. _They _looked good. _They _had perfect hair. _They _had perfect bodies. _They _had perfect faces. Why does everybody have to be so _fucking perfect_ except me!

Why couldn't I be like _them_? Why couldn't _I _be beautiful like _them_? Why did you have to make me like _this_? Plain and stick-like and ugly and _weird_? Why couldn't you've made me a _real _girl? A _perfect _girl like _them_? Why? Why?_ Why_?

Shards of glass were scattered around me but I didn't care. I ran. Ran as fast as I could. Far away from the beach. Far away from everything. I ran until my feet bled and then I ran some more.

I reached the peak of a hill at the edge of Indiana, the Anthill. When I looked down, everything looked so far away, so small, so _breakable_. They were like little ants and I was their queen. I felt _powerful._

Fuck being pretty, fuck being normal. Who cares what those bitches think anyway? One of these days, every single scumbag will pay for every single time they did me wrong. One of these days, _they _will be the ones begging for mercy. _They _will fall to their knees by the mere sight of me. _They _will be the miserable ones.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Tides Will Turn**

**A/N: This chapter is **_**way **_**longer than the others. Tell me if you want me to keep it that way. **

I hated assemblies. I hated having to speak out loud. I hated having to say what 'the man' wanted me to but was too fucking lazy to get out there and do it himself. I hated having my words restricted to what's considered socially acceptable (fuck that shit). I hated speaking to people who won't listen.

It was Tuesday, the dreaded school assembly day. 'The Man', Principal Donovan, has made me get up there and talk about random shit while he stood there attempting to look pretty and showing off one of the hundreds of vests he owns (and, trust me. He has _a lot_) as a twisted method of punishment for as long as I could remember. And the length of my memory happened to reach until second grade in primary school. In fact, I see an awkward flashback coming on...

It was when I was seven. You know, when I still hung out with _them_:

_"Stevie! You're gonna get caught." I screamed at my brother while Axl and the others watched in anticipation._

_ An abnormally high voice, Steven's, called out from the curtains of the empty auditorium, "Maybe if you don't stop yelling I will!"_

_ Axl grinned at me, thinking that a charming smile could distract the smartest, most cunning third grader in Lafayette. And, no. It didn't. Never did. Never will. "Chill out, Pia."_

_ "How can you even _think _of 'chilling out' at a time like this! WE COULD DIE."_

_ "Pia, why d'you get worked up by little stuff like this? We've done worse.", a gigantic mop of curly hair suddenly emerged from inside a large cooler, "Have you tried this stuff?" He held out a can of Diet Coke, "It's good."_

_ I looked at him in confusion, "I'm sorry, who are you?"_

_ He stared at me (at least, I think he was staring at me. His hair was too big for me to actually see his face), "I don't think you remember but I'm Slash, we've been hanging out since kindergarten" He grinned, holding out his hand._

_ Slash? That's a stupid name. Sounds like something an axe murderer would have "You smell bad." I ignored his attempt to make conversation._

_ A loud voice cut through the auditorium, "Hey guys! Wait up! Whyd'ya keep leaving' me?"_

_ "We've been waiting for you for half an hour, Duff." Axl told him._

_ "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He panted, "It's just that my cousin from London's coming over to visit and I was fixing my room and stuff..."_

_ Patting his back in mock sympathy, I rolled my eyes. "Sure... whatever we don't need you anyway." I smacked the back of his head playfully (but knocking him to his knees anyway). God, he was freaking _enormous_. I had to stand on my tippy-toes and everything!_

_ "I'm _serious_! She's sleeping over and my mommy told me to clean up or I'm grounded!"_

_ Axl walked over, resting his arm lazily on my shoulder, "Whatever Duffman." He took a sip out of his 7-Up, "You've got the stuff?" No he does not 'got' the stuff, if you know what I mean._

_ His eyes widened in alarm, "What stuff! You didn't ask_ _me to bring any stuff!_

___Axl started to lose it. And we all know what would happen when he does. "Duff! We told you this morning!" _

_ "And the morning before that morning!" I added._

_ Duff's expression changed from downright terrified to slightly amused, "Chill out, Pia." Jesus Christ, can everybody stop asking me to chill out? I'm perfectly freaking calm, goddammit! "Here ya go." He held out a small plastic bag. That son of a bitch._

_ "Found it!" Steven interrupted my thoughts with his _annoyingly high pitched _voice. Sometimes I wished he'd choke every time he opened his mouth. He was holding a box full of god-knows-what._

_ "What is this '_it' _of which you speak?" I called out worriedly. As much as I _hated_ almost dying, waiting for my almost-death is much, _much _worse._

_ He smirked as he opened the box. Hairspray. Why in the world_ _would we need _hairspray_?_

_ Like he just answered my internal question, Axl tossed him a lighter. I mentally yelled out every single curse an eight year old could think of._

_ Everybody (save myself, of course) laughed in excitement as they started grabbing as much hairspray cans they could carry._

_ Duff looked at them curiously, "Why would a stage-thingy have tons of hairspray? I didn't know you could get your hair cut in school..."_

_ I sighed, it's surprising how ignorant most people are to show business, "Well, Duff, there are two possible reasons they might have hairspray here. One, the actors and actresses in the school play need to fix their hair, of course, and hairspray is the best thing for fixing hair! It makes it go all big and puffy and stiff and pretty! _Everyone _knows _that_!" I tossed my perfectly teased up hair (the best hair anybody in school could have, if I do say so myself), "And secondly, don't you remember the name of the school play? _Hairspray_?" All of them looked at me like I just spoke gibberish. _

_ Just as I was about to go into the facts about the wonderful world of show business and Broadway, Axl clamped his hand over my mouth, "Nobody cares, Sophia."_

_ They all laughed as they sprayed the hairspray and lighter fluid mixture around the auditorium, setting fire to everything, while I just stared and watched. Should I help them? Should I stop them? I didn't know. It seems like the safest thing to do back then was stand absolutely still and do nothing at all._

_ "Oi, what you kids doin' 'ere?" Glen, the janitor man, appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the auditorium. Crap, oh crap. We're screwed, we're dead, see you all in hell 'cause we're all gonna die..._

_ We all started running in different directions, screaming, panicking._

_Whether it was intentional or just bad luck, somehow the flames caught onto my hair, setting my whole head alight. Okay, maybe it was just _me _who was gonna to die this time._

"Oi! Pia! You're on in ten!" Can. You. Not. Interrupt my flashback? Okay, now where was I? Ah yes, the infamous hair-burning incident. Well, obviously I didn't die. But what happened after that pretty much twisted my entire life:

_ "Sophia Adler to the principal's office now." The voice in the PA system stated. I got up from the nurse's bed and headed out the door._

_I wasn't hurt, well, _severely _hurt. I didn't have to go to the hospital or anything. But I did get a few first degree burns. But that's not the worst bit. It's not even remotely close to the worst bit. It wasn't even bad at all compared to the worst bit 'cause, being the worst bit, it's really, really bad. I mean, worst than all the worst bits in the _world_! What _is _the worst bit? Let me tell you the worst bit. ALL MY HAIR WAS GONE!_

_I anxiously glanced around the empty hallway. I couldn't get caught, I didn't want anyone to catch me, the richest, prettiest girl in school, as a _baldie_! _

_Outside the principal's office (safely away from any classrooms) I took a seat beside a quiet, dark haired kid who just sat in silence, twiddling with his thumbs and occasionally glancing up to take a peek at my head._

"_What are you lookin' at?" I snarled at the kid, who quickly ducked down, looking like he was about to cry._

_An intern poked her head out the door, "Sophia Adler, Mr. Donovan is ready to see you now." Yeah, whatever, lady. I hesitantly stood up and walked inside the office._

_Seating myself on one of the purple beanbags Donovan put there in a desperate attempt to look 'cool', I waited for him to execute one of his dramatic heel-spins. Wait, here it comes..._

"_Hello, Miss Adler." He said in almost a whisper, slowly pacing around the room, "I suppose you know why you're here."_

"_To be unjustly punished for damage I did not cause?, I guessed._

"_You completely destroyed the hall with a fire than nearly burnt down the whole school not to mention caused _millions _of dollars worth of damage!"_

_"Like I said," I stated simply, "It wasn't me."_

_ "You were the _only _one on the scene of the crime," _

"_That's 'cause everybody ran away already! It was Axl and Steven and Duff and that kid who smells bad who did it!"_

_ "I don't suppose you can prove it."_

_ "I-I... no."_

_ "I thought so." He ripped out a sheet from a notebook, "Your punishment will be as follows. You will do community service at the local museum for the next five years to pay for the damage. And additionally as my own personal form of punishment, once the hall is fully rebuilt, you will give the announcements in assembly every fortnight for the rest. Of. Your. Life. In school, that is."_

_ "Sounds fair." No. It was not fair. I just felt like bursting his bubble._

_ "Oh," He said, looking slightly aback at my response, "well then, ahem, excuse me. You may go."_

_ As soon as I was out the door, I was greeted by the smiling faces of my friends. Along with every other kid in school. When they saw me, they reacted in a way that foresaw how I was gonna spend the rest of my life. As a joke._

_ "Look at her!"_

_ "She looks silly!"_

_ "What a freak!"_

_ Juice boxes and fruit were thrown at me from all directions along with various insults._

_ "Cut it out! Stop it!" I cried. They didn't._

_ "Hey." Someone called out, turns out it was the new kid. He could talk? "Stop it."_

_ To my surprise, they all did. They stared at him, so did I. He was taller than he looked, and a lot more handsome too. Wait, what am I thinking!_

_ "Now turn around," He commanded, "and leave."_

_ They all obeyed. Even Axl and his goons, who were whispering to one another and glancing back at him as they were leaving._

_When everybody was gone, I came to a sudden realization. They left me. I wasn't the queen of the school, the top of the food chain anymore. I was a loser. _

"_Hey, you alright?" The new kid said softly and put his hand on my shoulder_

"_Yes." Other than facing the biggest embarrassment of my life? "Yeah, I'm okay". Nothing broken except my dignity._

_He looked at me concernedly. I almost felt bad for how I treated him a while ago.._

_ "Thanks...wait, who are you?" I didn't quite catch his name._

_ "Jeffery Dean Isbell-Stradlin" He smiled._

_ "Yeah, Imma call you Izzy."_

_ "Izzy sounds nice. You?"_

_ "Sophia Adler"_

_ "Hi Pia."_

_ "Don't call me Pia. Only people I _hate _call me Pia" Like Axl and Duff and Steven and the hobo guy and my Aunt Olivia and everybody else._

_ "Alright, Sophia. You hungry? It's recess. Wanna eat something?"_

_ I checked my lunchbox. No, wait, Axl took my lunchbox..."I haven't anything to eat."_

_ "That's okay, I've got heaps." He took out two cans of Diet Coke and handed one to me._

_I stared at the can curiously. Why is it that everybody seems to be drinking this stuff nowadays? Eh, no harm in trying._

_He grinned, he has a really cute smile. Wait, no. Gotta stop thinking about him like that. "Cheers."_

"_Cheers" I took a sip of Diet Coke. Best thing I ever tasted. I kept chugging down the whole can until there was nothing left. I frowned at the empty can, "Got any more?" He laughed and handed me another one, which I gulped down twice as fast as the first one._

_After successfully emptying about a dozen cans, we sat in the empty hallway for a while, staying completely silent with the exception of a few burps and giggles. And for some reason, we started talking about anything and everything. Stuff like music and school and how mean people could be. _

_We understood each other. How people saw us. How we saw them. _

_ It's amazing what a few hours could do to an entire life. From that day on, I decided _never ever _to use hairspray _everagain_. From that day on, I became addicted to the deliciousness that is Diet Coke. From that day on, I started drifting apart from Axl and my other friends, whom I decided weren't really my friends in the first place. From that day on, me and Izzy started hanging out more and more to the point where we decided we were more or less best friends. From that day on, I decided never again would I give a damn about what people thought of me. From that day on, well, I was a loser. The tides had turned._

_ "_And the tides will turn again."

"Who are you talking to?", Izzy poked his head through the stage curtains.

"Oi, who said you're allowed to be in here?", I shoved him playfully.

"Sorry, sorry." He laughed, the same laugh he had when we were seven.

"Now", I cleared my throat, "Get out. Please?"

"No."

"Bitch."

"You're a bitch."

"You're a bitch first."

We exchanged a few mock glares before breaking out in spontaneous laughter. We were so immature sometimes. I loved it.

"You better go. His asshole-ness awaits." And by asshole-ness I meant Axl, but Izzy already knew that, "Can't keep the King of the douchebags waiting".

"Right. Bye, princess." He smirked as he jumped off the stage.

"Bitch." I muttered.

"You're a bitch" He yelled from one of the seats. Jokingly, I gave him the finger as I was going back behind the curtains.

And just as I was, I caught sight of those sons of bitches seating themselves next to Izzy. Why was he friends with them anyway? It's not like they were _nice _to him. Oh, wait, I remember, It's because I _asked_ him to, just to get inside their system. Stupid me, stupid me. Now, look at them! Bondingover that _abomination _that is heavy metal. I repeat, ahem, _stupid me, stupid me_.

Hold up, is he talking to _her_, Jasmine _fucking_ McKagan? That little _bitch_, does she think she can steal my only friend away from me? Just like how she stole my entire _life_? My brother, my status and the guy who was supposed to be _my boyfriend_? Wait, no. Izzy just said 'hi'. Stay cool, psycho. Try thinking of something pleasant, like dolphins or penguins or bears or _lions or tigers or sharks_...

"We have a special announcement to make!" Mr. Donovan suddenly broadcasted from the podium, interrupting the psychotic glare I was giving Jasmine from behind the curtains. "We have Ms. Sophia Adler here to tell us about an upcoming event." Shit, that's me. Where's that goddamn speech? There it is! You know, whatever 'it' is...

Seeing the faces of my classmates as I stepped forward to the podium really brought back old memories. Their ecstatic faces clearly screamed "Oh joy, the freak is here. Let's all grab hold of the nearest food item and fling it at her, shall we?" Ah, just like the good ole' days...

But this time, oh, yes. _This time _I genuinely hated _each and every one_ of them, especially _that girl_. I pictured all the ceiling fans spontaneously unhinging themselves from the ceiling and falling on their heads, decapitating them in the process. Yes, what a nice thought. But how to spare Izzy (whom I could _never _hate. I mean, I _loved _him... LIKE A FRIEND. Jeez, what were you thinking?)... how do I spare Izzy?... hmm... slightly more complicated than I initially thought.

A nudge from Mr Donovan brought me back down to earth, tearing me away from the wonderful place that is Murder City. Oh, that's right, I have a speech to do.

I cleared my throat and hastily read through my speech, sporting a continuous glare directed especially to Jasmine. "Coming up is the talent show." We have a talent show? Really? How _interesting_! Couldn't care less. "Anybody can audition with whatever act they please, whether it is a song, dance, so on and so forth." Oh, joy. Another excuse for those _despicable _metalheads to congregate and debate amongst themselves whose crappy 'music' is _better. _And by better I mean not absolute _shit _(which is quite hard to determine seeing that metal in general is absolute shit).

Still glaring at Jasmine, I noticed Axl whisper something in her ear. I nearly snapped the clipboard in half. And now I just did. Can't she just die or something? Saves me the trouble of hating her guts.

As a matter of fact, I was too busy hating her guts to notice everybody throwing random shit at me. Nothing hit me though. People these days have _horrible _aim. Here, let me show you dipshits how it's done. I effortlessly cached a pencil aimed right in the middle of my face and slammed it onto the podium. Like a boss.

"Hope to see you all there." I took one last look at their stunned faces before leaving the stage, throwing one last glare at Jasmine.

I don't know what all the hype about this silly little talent show is all about. I mean, a dozen or so students were lined up behind me when I was pinning up the signup sheet outside the hall. Jesus Christ, _personal space_!

Izzy, who happened to be standing beside me, as usual, took one look at my exasperated face and turned to the crowd, "Fuck off."

"Thanks." I was grinning from ear to ear as soon as they all left.

"You're welcome." Izzy returned my grin. How _does _he do that? Get people to do what he wants effortlessly, I mean.

"Oh, look. They're here." He told me. Shit, Axl. What do I do? Stay calm, stay calm. They won't hurt you with Izzy here.

Axl yelled to his goons, "Look! We can sign up." _Nooo..._ the signup sheet's here so you can wipe your ass with it, idiot.

"I don't really want to," Good, cause neither do I. Now _leave_.

"Come on, if it makes you feel any better, we should all do it together." Absolutely _not_! The _last _thing this school needs is an invasion of delinquents.

"Do it, Jasmine. Do it for us." Steven begged.

"Yeah," Axl urged, "We should. Me, you, Duff, Slash and Steven could audition as a band. Do you play anything?"

"I play guitar."

Hobo guy butt in, "Sweet! You and Izzy can play rhythm while I play lead." _Izzy! He's _in on this? I looked for confirmation in his face- all I saw was confusion. Good. "Steven can drum, Duff is on bass and Axl is a fucking awesome singer." _No _he is _not_.

Axl started screeching out revolting noises that closely resembled those made by a cat hung upside-down in a blender. _Metal_. How I loathe you, you took what could've been a lovely voice and butchered it up to your liking.

I glared at Izzy, was he _really _going to join a musical group like _this_?

He stared at me with an expression that clearly meant, "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"ANYTHING!" I whispered, loud enough to convey my desperation.

_Finally _getting the message, he raised his arm, the one with the cast over it, and declared, "I can't." Good boy.

"What happened?" Jasmine asked with concern in her voice. I have said this before but, _mind your own fucking business._

"I, err, got into a fight." Izzy stammered.

"More like he got beaten up," Duff smirked. And you're gonna be too if you don't shut the fuck up about my best friend (well, you know, when I actually learn how to throw a punch, that is...)

"Aw, shut it." Yes, _shut it_.

"So Izzy can't play?" Of course, you stupid hobo "Fine, we only need one rhythm and one lead anyway."

"So it's settled." Axl roughly pushed me aside and scrawled on the signup sheet: _Axl Rose, Jasmine McKagan, Duff McKagan, Steven Adler, and Slash Hudson._

The rest of the punks started cheering and yelling like they were little girls who were about to get an ice cream.

I rolled my eyes. Why do people get so hyped up about these things? It's just a silly little competition for people who desperately want an easy way out of this stink hole and into the big time. Ha, as _if_. There _is _no easy way to get what you want without any combination of lying, cheating and stealing.

But _wait_...

_Lying, cheating and stealing_. _Competition. Big time. _This is _it_! A cunning plan hatched in my head. A plan to bring me back to power. _Tides will turn_.

"Check it out, look who's signing up for auditions. The freak," Laugh all you want, silly little ginger, but one day, _you will be mine_.

"What the fuck!" Axl scowled. "Izzy refused to play with us yet he's going with her? Who does he think he is?" All of them had their eyed glued on me.

Izzy stared at me, dumbfounded. I had just intentionally written his name on the sign up sheet.

I looked at him, a maniacal look on my face, "Trust me, I have a _plan_!" I dragged him by his good wrist through the hallway, knowing that, after the talent show, nothing will be the same again.

The gunpowder plot had been put into action.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews you've all been sending :D:D And sorry for taking eight full months to update again, I've been dealing with technological withdrawal. Anyway, thanks again :D**

**Chapter 8: The Gunpowder Plot**

"So, remind me again how this masterplan of yours works?", Izzy asked me, looking up from a lost game of Pac-Man at the arcade.

I sighed, "I _told _you Izzy, I join the talent show, gaining access backstage, and sabotage Axl's performance."

"_Sabotage_? You're not gonna hurt anybody, are you? Especially not Jasmine..."

"That_ girl_? What's she to _you_?"

"_Nothing_. It's just that—promise you won't hurt anybody."

Right hand raised and left hand fingers crossed behind my back, "Cross my heart and hope other people die."

"Fair enough. I trust you, Sophia, okay? No funny business."

"Yippee!", I squealed girlishly, "So I can go?"

"Yes, but why do _I _have to be in it?"

"So I won't be miserable the whole time", I pouted.

"I thought causing excruciating pain and humiliation in the expense of others makesyou happy."

"It does—"

"Well, it _doesn't _for me so why should I help cause it?"

"Because," How do I explain the fact I actually _want _him around without making myself look needy? I put on my sweetest expression and brought my face closer to his, "It will make me happy if you come along...", I whispered in his ear.

I looked up at him innocently, he was blushing like _mad_, "O-o-okay", he stammered out.

"Excellent...", I smirked devilishly.

He stood there, dazed and flustered, for a while before he brought his attention back to that pointless game of his. He played in silence, his face hidden from view.

I decided to break the silence, "So..." God, _say _something Izzy!

"Do we have to wear costumes?", He blurted out.

"Yes, of course. We _are _doing the Time Warp after all."

"_Why_?"

"Because I _like _the Time Warp." I smirked, "Besides, it gives me the excuse to wear that new corset I got a few days ago."

His face grew redder and he buried his face in his game again. Ha, he's funny.

I watched him play his silly little game for a while, "So do you plan on just standing there and playing the whole afternoon?"

"Yup." He didn't look up from his game.

"Don't you have homework?"

"Nope"

"Won't your mum be worried?"

"She's never home." Right.

"Don't you have, like, _a life_?"

"That depends..."

"On what?"

"Can I come over later?" Izzy asked, finally looking up from his game—and moving onto the next one; Space Invaders.

"What for?"

"I just want to..." His expression turned contemplative, "...hang out."

"Alrighty then. Just let me pick up Steven." I fished around in my pocket for something, "He works at McDonalds or something."

"Doesn't he have a car?" Izzy asked.

I brought out a bunch of keys, "Stole it from him this morning."

Izzy just shook his head.

"_What_? He has a pretty car", I defended.

"Why am I not surprised..." he sighed, "Get me some fries?"

"No."

"Okay"

"It's about fucking time." Steven threw his hat down in front of McDonalds and huffed towards the car.

"Yes it is. Now, hurry up and get in. I'm having Izzy over." I tapped my finger impatiently at the wheel.

"No you're fucking not." He said as he pushed me over to the passenger seat, "Axl, Duff, Slash and Jas are coming over to jam and Izzy's joining in."

I rolled my eyes (I have the habit of doing that when I sense stupidity) "I'm unaware whether or not your minuscule cranium has taken this in but, Izzy's in a cast. He's _handicapped_. He can't play." Not that I would've let him anyway...

"Big. Words." He scratched his head.

"Honestly, Stevie. You have the mental capacity and vocabulary of an eight year old."

"Again, big words"

"Right..."

He was quiet for a while, but, you know Steven... he can't spent a minute without saying something completely beside the subject, "So what are you gonna do for the talent show?"

I raised my eyebrow, "You _actually _care?"

"_No_! I'm just—um, curious."

I smirked a bit, "Very well then, we're doing the Time Warp from Rocky Horror."

"No idea what that is."

My smile grew, "Exactly."

I enjoyed our momentary understanding, it's quite fun to have these brother-sister moments when we're actually on the same page. But, unfortunately, our brief truce was not to last.

"So can Izzy play with us for the talent show?" He said when we passed the school.

"_Of course not_." I snapped. Hasn't he been paying attention!

"Why? It's in two weeks, his hand's gonna be better by then. So why can't he play?"

"That's because he's performing with _me_!"

"Izzy doesn't even _like _singing and dancing"

"He likes what I want him to like."

Steven slammed his fist down at the wheel, "You know what, Sophia? That's your problem. You think everybody's gonna do what you want just 'cause you say so. You think everybody's afraid of you. But you know what? We don't hate you 'cause you're weird, we hate you because you _make _us hate you.

"You keep feeling sorry for your own fucking self but you don't ever think of stepping away from the mirror to see that some people have it worse off than you. You think you're the only person with a dream, don't you? You want to go on Broadway or someth'n. Do you really think that Izzy doesn't have a dream? Izzy wants to be a musician. Didn't know that, did you? You're his best friend and you never even bothered asking what he wants to be when he's older. You never asked what he thinks about all this talent show shit, did you?

"You treat him like shit, you treat everyone like shit. You know why? Because you think you're so fucking better than all of us. But you know what? You're not."

I was fuming over his retarded bullshit rant for no reason in particular. Well, actually, there was sort of a reason.

Did I _really _treat Izzy like that? Of course not. If I did, he would've said something, wouldn't he? I mean, honestly, I _like _Izzy. He's my only and best friend. Surely I don't treat him _that _bad, right? Or do I?

"Hey, get in!" Steven yelled once we parked outside the arcade to find waiting for us on the pavement, Izzy and *_gasp* _Jasmine. "Get the fuck out, Sophia"

"You don't have to do that," Izzy smiled, holding out his hand anyway. God, Izzy, why do you have to be so bloody gentlemanly?

I instinctively slapped his hand away, "It's alright; I'm fine with walking home. I can't stand being in the same car with him for more than five minutes anyway." I scowled at Steven as he and Jasmine drove away.

The walk home was awkward and… well, even more awkward. I was struggling to find something to break the silence with, along with trying to avoid thinking of Steven's little rant and how much of that little rant was true.

"You're quiet," Izzy nudged my elbow.

I sighed, "I don't know, just thinking." Thinking about how big a bitch I am to you. Thinking about how you really mean to me. Thinking about all the things I'm dying to say to you but will never ever say out loud because it will sound cheesy and gay.

Izzy wrapped his arm around me. Part of me remembered those times when we were younger when Axl did the same thing, only Izzy was different. He was gentle, warm and he had the distinct smell of leather and coffee that I love (although I very much hate coffee). Axl smelled horrible and that's about it.

He and I had this unspoken understanding, a bond, if you would like to call it, we were like brother and sister, alike and yet so different. Sometimes I wonder if Izzy truly was my brother, and that we were separated at birth and that Steven was some bastard my mother found outside a strip club.

We arrived at the house; the walk was too quick for my liking, to be honest. I looked at Izzy for a moment at the base of the staircase, wanting nothing more than to apologise— to change things. I had so much to apologise for. Instead, I ran to my room, locking the door. For once in my life, I had nothing to say, nothing to prove. I was speechless. The only thing on my mind was Izzy, and how much I loved him exactly.

But that didn't matter, did it? I had other things to worry about, like the talent show and getting rich and famous and leaving this shithole of a town and so much more. Getting what I want was the only thing that matters—the only thing that _should _matter. Not Izzy, not some petty _feelings, _nothing. Izzy was just a tool anyway, a stepping stone, no matter what Steven had told me. He was wrong. Ever since day one, I've only had myself and that's all I'm ever going to have unless I make a fucking move. I'm not going to let shit like this bring me down.

I hastily cleared my desk, scribbling notes furiously on a piece of paper. This was it, the rest of my life, the one thing that mattered. The demolition scheme, the gunpowder plot, I wasn't going to let some spark blow it to bits.

**AN: Sophia is getting a bit _loca... _Just so you all know, she's kinda like the villain acting like the damsel in distress. Yeah, I know I'm kinda rusty :/**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: It's an Invasion!**

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate people? I scowled as every fucking body pushed and shoved to get in front of the line to auditions. It's like the entire bloody retard community were condensed into this tiny auditorium, one by one being called up onstage. The Madonna wannabees were primping up their hair and practising their idiotic duck faces, the douchebags were hitting on the Madonna wannabees and gelling up their faggy hairstyles and the rockers—holy fuck, where do I start?

There were _shitloads _of them, they took up more than half of the slots. The hard rockers, the scary death metal guys, the punks, the glam rockers, there were so many kinds of retard rockers I was surprised I could categorise them all. I hated them the most for no apparent reason. Actually, there was a reason, they were annoying as fuck and a waste of space in this world since they contribute a total of jack shit to this shithole save for horrible rebel anthems, broken beer bottles and ciggarette butts on the sidewalk.

Nobody seemed to pay much attention to me; the freaky, artsy broadway freak that had absolutely no place in the flashy, bright, earsplitting scene of the early 80's. Honestly, I wished I was born in some other decade, long before these kind of people were born, before the ideas that conceptualised mainstream in the 80's were ever conceived.

Scoping the supposed 'competition', I spotted Axl and co. at the far end of the auditorim, picking a fight with some chick. I rolled my eyes, something I spend most of my time doing. They were joined by slightly more hardcore rockers, they wore heavy makeup, studs on their jackets and their dark hair was gigantic. They were like a mix of Axl's band and the satanic-looking people who were on right now, threatening and superior yet extremely attractive. I recall those same people violently shoving in front of the line to get to the signup sheet last week. Their name was hard to pronounce, I remember that. Moody- Moddley Coo or something similar, I didn't know and frankly I didn't give much of a shit.

Izzy was nowhere in sight. I frantically looked for him, I felt panic building up inside me as I remembered that little incident with the thugs. What if something had gone wrong? What if Steven told him about what he told me yesterday? What if he won't talk to me ever again? Where's Izzy? I felt a hand on my shoulder, nearly making me shit myself. I turned around, ready to give a skull-crushing bitchslap.

"Izzy you fucking douchebag don't fucking sneak up on my you sneaky ass fuck!" I yelled in his amused face, making a complete fool of myself.

He smirked, his hand still on my shoulder, "You can be such a paranoid freak, you know that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do know that," I ponted my chin up and swiped his hand away. He makes me feel so dimunitive and shallow sometimes, he's the only person I know who can do that.

He scanned the room, analysing every competitor. He looked so superior, high and mighty, he looked like he could've owned this place if it weren't for Axl. "You're in luck," he announced neutrally, still scanning the crowd, "mostly everybody here is utter shit, with the exception of you, the Guns and a couple of our friends."

"Yeah… I guess… " I muttered, feeling a twinge of nervousness, "Wait, '_the Guns_'?"

"Guns N' Roses," he said, pride in his voice, "that's what we've decided to call ourselves."

"'_Ourselves'?_" I raised an eyebrow.

He frowned, "Despite what had happened to my arm and regardless of how much I care about you, I'm still part of the band and I always will be, just not at the moment. Right now I'm with you, right now is all that matters, right?"

I tried to keep from smiling, "Nothing else matters?" I said, quoting the first song he ever played for me when we were eleven.

He ignored me, looking absentmindedly over to Axl and co.—sorry, _Guns N' Roses_. His expression abruptly changed from bemused to nervous. "Oh god, _they're_ here," he said, gesturing to some people dressed in bright outfits and weilding expensive looking pointy guitars, walking towards the Guns, "Poison, they call themselves. People 'round Laffayette say they're _the _hair metal band to look out for, that they're the only band that's ever gonna get somewhere after high school. I fucking hate them."

I looked at them sceptically, they didn't look like much. If anything, they looked like pussies, hiding behind layers and layers of hairspray, "I don't get why you're so threatened by them, they're just girls with guitars, I doubt they're any good."

"They're _guys_," he laughed, "That actually made me feel a bit better."

"You're very welcome. But still, they look like epic faggots, I could have sworn they were girls" I mean, those _pink _effing leotards what the hell are you a rocker or not?

Finally, the judges started calling on bands, starting with Poison. Izzy and I sat back with grins on our faces, expecting the gayest performance of them all. I cannot describe how wrong we were.

Poison literally got the audience to their feet with such a catchy yet skillful song. It was a mix of everything, pop, rock, metal, everybody looked utterly impressed. Even I had to admit it was good which is really saying something. The melody was so… _alive_, It's like the room couldn't help but dance, headbang and fistpump along. It was that kind of song that unintentionally brought different types of music fans together. The kind of band the world needed to look out for, just like Izzy said.

When 'Unskinny Bop', Poison's song was finished, the room erupted in cheers. Me, Izzy, the Guns and the other rockers, however, looked dumbfounded.

"They used to suck, they sounded different before," Izzy was shaking his head, hiding his worry, "What happened to them?"

"Glam metal happened…" I muttered.

Whatever disbelief the rockers had when the song finished, it faded as soon as the next act came on. Izzy and I watched in astonishment as each act passed. They seemed to get better and better, disregard how cliché that sounded. Seriously, after a while, even I was impressed.

One thing I learned that day was that rock wasn't a single genre, not like I used to think. It branched out into different subgroups, different kinds of people with different music styles. Aerosmith, the senior band, was powerful yet pure classic rock, Hanoi Rocks and Crashdiet had the same idea; bouncy and fun yet rebellious anthems only Crashdiet had more of an urban-contemporary theme, Van Halen was similar to the latter but had more of a feel-good vibe, W.A.S.P. was brilliant with their shock rock/glam metal combination, Skid Row's lead singer just blew your mind with his amazing, powerful voice (in my opinion, the best, most prominent voice in the auditions) and Motley Crue went with full theatricality accompanied by amazing, heart pounding musical skill.

Finally, it was Guns N' Roses' turn and frankly, my expectations were abnormally high. This wasn't the garage band dreamer shit anymore, this was the real deal. There wasn't time for messing around with daddy's old drum kit and guitar with your best mates , this was competing with everybody with the same dream as you, proving that you can do ten times better than their best, that you deserve the dream more than they do.

Guns N' Roses did just that; blew everyone away, made even the best musicians in the school question their ability. Every single member contributed something that made Gn'R what it was: Axl with his head-splitting vocal power that earned some dirty looks from Skid Row, Steven had his undying energy, Slash with his impecable skill, even Jasmine, although I _hate _to admit it, gave the rebellious band a hint of much needed innocence, the rose among the thorns. And Duff was the bassist, I guess.

Guns N' Roses didn't fall into any category, as hard as I tried, I couldn't classify it as anything. It wasn't entirely glam, it wasn't classic rock, not exactly hard rock, definitely not death metal. It was a category of its own: white-hot, pure rock n' roll. Their effect was the exact opposite of what Poison did, they didn't bring the audience to their feet, they brought them to their knees.

As the crowd burst into mandatory applause, Izzy and I stood side by side, shocked and lightly scarred. This _was _the real deal. I might not have been trying to win then but the determination on those rockers' faces was enough to convince me that this meant a lot, and that I had no chance of winning even if I did try. Hell, it would take a miracle to even place. Which is where the gunpowder plot comes in.

I looked at Izzy, making our way towards the stage, knowing that we were about to make ourselves laughing stocks of the school forever and not caring about it one bit. I could see the expressions on every one's faces, some were on the verge of laughter.

Honestly, who were we to take ourselves seriously? What were we compared to these people? The thoughts you could think were enough to make someone run from the stage and from this town never to be seen again. But I wasn't going to give up, not yet. I don't care if we win or lose, all I cared about is that I finish what I started.


End file.
